The Panellists
- Mary Kathleen Hickox, RCMP National Youth Advisory Committee, Charlottetown, P.E.I
- Chris Rider, executive director, BYTE – Youth Empowerment, Whitehorse, Yukon
- Cst. Gail Starr, Upper Fraser Valley Regional Detachment, First Nations Policing Unit, RCMP
Mary Kathleen Hickox
Bully. What does this word mean to you? Does it conjure the image of a burly boy shoving that lanky kid into a locker? Is it Mean Girls' Regina George — the rich, all-American girl picking on others because she can? Or maybe it's the big "sketchy" guy who steals lunch money because his parents are poor. These perceptions of bullies are more than inaccurate; they're fictitious.
Here in Charlottetown, P.E.I, the biggest issue facing my fellow youth is cyberbullying. Not only have I been affected by such crimes, most of my friends and peers have as well.
In a world where everything evolves and is fluid, our perceptions of bullying must change as well. Bullying is no longer something that can be observed in the school cafeteria; it's invisible. It's on your phone, Facebook, Twitter, computer — it's everywhere and there's often no escape. As a youth from the millennial generation, I can tell you that bullying isn't only common, it's a crisis.
Technology provides the unique opportunity to share information while assuming a new identity, a sanctuary in which you are unmonitored and free to say whatever you want. You can become a cyberbully.
This is one of the factors that makes bullying so difficult to eliminate. Today, bullies are often individuals who hide under their mask of anonymity. As an outsider, you could never guess that the quiet speed skater is actually sending abusive texts to his teammate or that the "sweet" library monitor assumes the identity of "MidnightCrocodile123" when she harasses her peers.
Of course, the anonymity of the Internet places another level of complexity on the situation. It's possible that a victim of bullying doesn't even know who the perpetrator is. This adds even more anxiety.
As the phrase "social media" implies, it's social. This is another variable that dramatically increases the prevalence and hurtfulness of bullying. Bullies have access to an enormous audience with whom they can share, re-tweet, re-post — and re-abuse their victims. Instead of being between a few individuals, bullying can become a "community" activity.
Too often, the crime committed becomes the responsibility of the victim. It's unfair that the person being victimized has to act on his or her own behalf as the investigator, authority and the counsellor. Furthermore, this individual is often blamed for the crime. People will ask, "What did you do to cause this?" This question implies that the victim is at fault and that he or she somehow deserves the abuse. It can result in the victim losing trust and self-confidence.
The most powerful role in this situation is that of the bystander. The bystander has the potential to help alleviate the situation or to worsen it. Sadly, many teens often choose the easier route and submit to the peer pressure. We need to empower students from a young age to stand up. Not simply by wearing a pink shirt on Feb. 25th, but by reporting bullies and supporting victims.
If we don't end the misconception that "bullying is a normal part of growing up," bullying has the potential to become an accepted social norm.
Chris Rider
My organization, BYTE – Youth Empowerment, travels across the Yukon to run experiential workshop programming for youth aged 13 to 18. The topics we talk about include bullying, mental health, leadership and healthy relationships. This work has given us many opportunities to talk with both youth and adults about the issues they're facing.
Some of the issues that youth face — such as bullying and changing technology — are the same across Canada, and some stem from the remoteness of the communities. From my experience, though, the biggest issue facing northern youth is substance abuse.
I've spoken to many people across the territory about why this is such a big issue, and the one thing that keeps coming back is the inter-generational trauma resulting from Indian residential schooling. It's difficult for me to do justice to something that's had such a profound impact on so many people, but it's critical to acknowledge when talking about substance abuse in Yukon communities.
Residential schools operated in the Yukon from 1891 to 1968, but many Yukon First Nations people were also sent to Indian Residential Schools in northern B.C. (Lower Post) and Northwest Territories (Aklavik), where the last school didn't close until 1996. Residential schooling was a program operated by the federal government that took First Nations children away from their families to forcibly assimilate them into what was considered to be "white culture."
In our territory, there are still elders who remember having their young children taken away from them. If they didn't comply, they were sent to prison. They talk about the impact this had on them and their community. When their children were taken, many of the remaining adults turned to substance abuse as a way to cope with the loss.
By the time the students returned home, substance abuse had become an issue in their communities. Former students reported that they no longer knew where they belonged and, having lived through a terrible trauma, the cycle of substance abuse continued.
The impacts of trauma and substance abuse have led to the situation we are in today. Although the residential schools have all now closed, many young people in northern communities are still growing up surrounded by the problems the residential schools created. Good people, many of whom are uncles, aunts and parents, drink to numb their pain. For many youth, particularly those growing up in small remote communities, substance abuse is normalized.
It's not uncommon for young people growing up in the Yukon today to see their role models abusing substances. As anywhere, young people seek to emulate their parents, elders and older peers, and the cycle of substance abuse continues. It's something that the communities and organizations like BYTE – Youth Empowerment are working hard to reverse.
I have a wonderful team of youth outreach co-ordinators and facilitators who work hard to run programming that helps to promote positive mental health and confidence in young people. We hope that our programming is helping to repair the damage for young people growing up today. And the positive news is that there are signs that things are changing.
As communities have time to heal and many First Nations youth rediscover pride in their traditional culture, we hope it will lead to a reduction in substance abuse.
Cst. Gail Starr
My traditional name is Kwelaxtelotiya, my English name is Gail Starr. Being born and raised in a First Nations community and also having the opportunities to work away from the reservation has opened my eyes to see the whole picture of social issues facing youth today.
My community is Skwawakul, the Seabird Island Band. It is one of 23 bands that compose Sto:lo Nation, which covers a large area from Langley, B.C. east to Boston Bar on both sides of the Fraser River. The word Sto:lo in my Halq'eme'ylem language means "People on the River." We are connected to the salmon and the water.
The elders teach that for thousands of years we have been connected, physically, spiritually, mentally and emotionally to all life along the Fraser River. The mountains are where there is a resource of food and shelter. The same mountains are where our sacred songs came from. The ceder tree supplies our families with shelter, transportation and clothing. We also gather berries, medicine plants and herbs that grow in different traditional regions up the mountain valleys and in the lower flatlands. It is during those times spent together as family that the teachings are passed down. Our teachings were never written down, but rather passed on orally and physically demonstrated in art form (rock stories, paintings, carvings).
Our teachings and directions in life are circular, as everything is connected. The Canadian government legislated our children be taken from families and forced into the residential schools. This orchestrated breakdown of the family unit was an effort to destroy the "Indian in the child" by imposing western religion and foreign ways of processing thoughts (linear versus circular). This was executed in a captive forum, away from our traditional communities. Language, songs, art and gatherings were against the law. The last residential school closed down in 1996. The healing will take generations.
Today, the youth in our communities are affected and challenged by this history. The challenge is to find that balance between traditional and modern ways of living. There has been some recovery as our youth become educated and realize that their Aboriginal rights and title have never been extinguished, and the language can be learned and not lost. There can be a traditional balance living in the 21st century.
When I teach and speak with the youth in our community schools, I am honoured to witness how these children are connected to all living things and are able to apply traditional teachings to address social issues in their lives.
I am proud to open my submission using my traditional name. I share with young people that our language is alive and well — it is the pulse of who we are — and there are many opportunities to be Stlo:lo and confident in differentiating between historical and modern community issues. There can be a traditional balance and modern-day harmony when faced with any community issue.